Flogometer for Carolyn--would you turn the page?

Neither knows the other exists…until the Israeli
intelligence agency Mossad uses their identities in an operation to assassinate
a high-ranking Hezbollah commander in Doha, Qatar.

Now Hezbollah plans to kill them both.

When Jake’s wife is murdered in a botched hit meant for him,
he and Miriam try desperately to outrun and outfight their pursuers while
shielding Jake's young daughter from the killers on their trail.

Hezbollah, however, has a fallback plan: hundreds of people
will die if Jake and Miriam survive.

Just 2 weeks of flog material left! Submissions invited: If you’d like a fresh look at your opening chapter or
prologue, please email your submission to me re the directions at the bottom of
this post. Otherwise you’ll have to endure me pontificating about something or
simply blathering.

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.

Storytelling Checklist

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.

Story questions

Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)

Voice

Clarity

Scene-setting

Character

Carolyn
has sent the first chapter of Asphalt
Masquerade.

Five
badges circled the body, faces hidden beneath the cowls of their overcoats,
their lamps flickering like fairy-lights in the rain, and from her perch on the
eighth story balcony Cherie Lenoir plucked a crimson feather from her mask and
sent it floating with a kiss. She watched the badges dance, kneel and rise and
whisper, pair off and group again far away from the mess. She wondered if they
could see his insides past his guts in the dirt. She could, long ago before she
cast her instincts aside and fell to follow. Sirens echoed in the distance.
They were not for him. She rubbed her wrists absently. The rain washed the
glitter from her skin and the blood from the street, and when the black van
arrived, the living scattered and so did she.

Cherie’s
apartment was nestled in the middle of the Dale. Questionable ladies and
gentlemen cozied up to the red brick faces, then slipped down the concrete
alleys. The fire escapes were more likely to kill tenants than fires were,
which occurred, like clockwork, right around the time rent came due. The north
end was where she danced, and the South Hill was where she cleaned, and
sometimes, on the east end near River Park, Cherie found a quiet bench on which
to read and watch for the sign to don her mask and enter a boarded-up
delicatessen. Tonight, she boiled water for tea and waited for the call.

The voice is strong and
clear (except for one sentence), the narrative does a nice job of creating mood
and raising story questions. I found my self wanting to know more about this
mysterious person. While you can’t see immediate jeopardy directly ahead, there
are plenty of clues that there will be. Notes:

Five
badges circled the body, faces hidden beneath the cowls of their overcoats,
their lamps flickering like fairy-lights in the rain, and from her perch on the
eighth story balcony Cherie Lenoir plucked a crimson feather from her mask and
sent it floating with a kiss. She watched the badges dance, kneel and rise and
whisper, pair off and group again far away from the mess. Added a paragraph break to add a little
breathing room for the reader’s eye.

She
wondered if they could see his insides past his guts in the dirt. She could,
long ago before she cast her instincts aside and fell to follow. Sirens echoed
in the distance. They were not for him. She rubbed her wrists absently. The
rain washed the glitter from her skin and the blood from the street, and when
the black van arrived, the living scattered and so did she. I’ve read the
sentence about casting her instincts aside several times and can’t make any
sense of it—a clarity issue that took me right out of the story.

Cherie’s
apartment was nestled in the middle of the Dale. Questionable ladies and
gentlemen cozied up to the red brick faces, then slipped down the concrete
alleys. The fire escapes were more likely to kill tenants than fires were,
which occurred, like clockwork, right around the time rent came due. The north
end was where she danced, and the South Hill was where she cleaned, and
sometimes, on the east end near River Park, Cherie found a quiet bench on which
to read and watch for the sign to don her mask and enter a boarded-up
delicatessen. Tonight, she boiled water for tea and waited for the call. While the detail
about the fire escapes do add color, it seems extraneous on a page where we
need to engage with the story far more than the environment.

She
answered on the first ring.

“Rupert’s dead.” It
was Brook. I added the speaker’s name—why not? The narrative reveals it several
paragraphs later, but readers don’t really like to have that kind of thing
withheld unless there’s a story reason. There wasn’t here. The line about
Rupert being dead is a strong story question raiser.

Comments

Neither knows the other exists…until the Israeli
intelligence agency Mossad uses their identities in an operation to assassinate
a high-ranking Hezbollah commander in Doha, Qatar.

Now Hezbollah plans to kill them both.

When Jake’s wife is murdered in a botched hit meant for him,
he and Miriam try desperately to outrun and outfight their pursuers while
shielding Jake's young daughter from the killers on their trail.

Hezbollah, however, has a fallback plan: hundreds of people
will die if Jake and Miriam survive.

Just 2 weeks of flog material left! Submissions invited: If you’d like a fresh look at your opening chapter or
prologue, please email your submission to me re the directions at the bottom of
this post. Otherwise you’ll have to endure me pontificating about something or
simply blathering.

The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.

What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below.

A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.

Storytelling Checklist

Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this list of 6 vital storytelling ingredients from my book, Flogging the Quill, Crafting a Novel that Sells. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.

Evaluate the submission—and your own first page—in terms of whether or not it includes each of these ingredients, and how well it executes them. The one vital ingredient not listed is professional-caliber writing because that is a must for every page, a given.

Story questions

Tension (in the reader, not just the characters)

Voice

Clarity

Scene-setting

Character

Carolyn
has sent the first chapter of Asphalt
Masquerade.

Five
badges circled the body, faces hidden beneath the cowls of their overcoats,
their lamps flickering like fairy-lights in the rain, and from her perch on the
eighth story balcony Cherie Lenoir plucked a crimson feather from her mask and
sent it floating with a kiss. She watched the badges dance, kneel and rise and
whisper, pair off and group again far away from the mess. She wondered if they
could see his insides past his guts in the dirt. She could, long ago before she
cast her instincts aside and fell to follow. Sirens echoed in the distance.
They were not for him. She rubbed her wrists absently. The rain washed the
glitter from her skin and the blood from the street, and when the black van
arrived, the living scattered and so did she.

Cherie’s
apartment was nestled in the middle of the Dale. Questionable ladies and
gentlemen cozied up to the red brick faces, then slipped down the concrete
alleys. The fire escapes were more likely to kill tenants than fires were,
which occurred, like clockwork, right around the time rent came due. The north
end was where she danced, and the South Hill was where she cleaned, and
sometimes, on the east end near River Park, Cherie found a quiet bench on which
to read and watch for the sign to don her mask and enter a boarded-up
delicatessen. Tonight, she boiled water for tea and waited for the call.

The voice is strong and
clear (except for one sentence), the narrative does a nice job of creating mood
and raising story questions. I found my self wanting to know more about this
mysterious person. While you can’t see immediate jeopardy directly ahead, there
are plenty of clues that there will be. Notes:

Five
badges circled the body, faces hidden beneath the cowls of their overcoats,
their lamps flickering like fairy-lights in the rain, and from her perch on the
eighth story balcony Cherie Lenoir plucked a crimson feather from her mask and
sent it floating with a kiss. She watched the badges dance, kneel and rise and
whisper, pair off and group again far away from the mess. Added a paragraph break to add a little
breathing room for the reader’s eye.

She
wondered if they could see his insides past his guts in the dirt. She could,
long ago before she cast her instincts aside and fell to follow. Sirens echoed
in the distance. They were not for him. She rubbed her wrists absently. The
rain washed the glitter from her skin and the blood from the street, and when
the black van arrived, the living scattered and so did she. I’ve read the
sentence about casting her instincts aside several times and can’t make any
sense of it—a clarity issue that took me right out of the story.

Cherie’s
apartment was nestled in the middle of the Dale. Questionable ladies and
gentlemen cozied up to the red brick faces, then slipped down the concrete
alleys. The fire escapes were more likely to kill tenants than fires were,
which occurred, like clockwork, right around the time rent came due. The north
end was where she danced, and the South Hill was where she cleaned, and
sometimes, on the east end near River Park, Cherie found a quiet bench on which
to read and watch for the sign to don her mask and enter a boarded-up
delicatessen. Tonight, she boiled water for tea and waited for the call. While the detail
about the fire escapes do add color, it seems extraneous on a page where we
need to engage with the story far more than the environment.

She
answered on the first ring.

“Rupert’s dead.” It
was Brook. I added the speaker’s name—why not? The narrative reveals it several
paragraphs later, but readers don’t really like to have that kind of thing
withheld unless there’s a story reason. There wasn’t here. The line about
Rupert being dead is a strong story question raiser.